


Cul-de-sac

by MightyTacos



Category: Pitch Perfect (Movies)
Genre: AU, Abuse, Alternate Universe, Childhood, Childhood Friends, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Parent-Child Relationship, Trauma, bechloe - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 06:05:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15090608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MightyTacos/pseuds/MightyTacos
Summary: Beca's abusive father and troubled homelife often cause her to escape to her neighbor Chloe's house. Although the two have been friends since childhood, blossoming feelings across their many shared years have started to challenge the stability of their best friend label.





	Cul-de-sac

**Author's Note:**

> Say hello to a Bechloe childhood AU!

Beca wasn’t always afraid of her dad. Similar to how Beca wasn’t always at Chloe Beale’s house. But eventually, the two no concepts were no longer mutually exclusive. 

When Beca was young, only around 6 or 7, she would witness how horribly her dad would yell at her mom. It would start with him coming home from a bad day at his managerial job, with no other outlet to express his anger issues but his own family. He would snap at an instant – escalating from a seemingly normal conversation to condescendingly barking at his wife. Most of the time she would just take it. She would sit at the kitchen table with her head in her hands and she would just take it. 

Beca’s mother was not stupid, not stupid at all, but she knew how to act around these episodes. She normally just sat there in silence and absorbed the anger out of fear, since if she spoke out of turn the yelling could escalate. Even fits of sobbing would not cause Beca’s dad to reconsider his actions or even flirt with remorse. Rather, he would only yell louder, snowballing through heated teeth because she somehow “wasn’t listening to him.”

Beca often wish she couldn’t listen. She would sit on the floor in the next room, hearing the chaos. Her dad didn’t seem to care that she was there – he would continue on his heated rants even if she was right in front of him. He even yelled in public if he felt the need. 

Beca knew better than to cry. She did that when it first started, and it only caused the attention to direct towards her because she was “overreacting” or “making too much noise.” Beca even tried defending her mom in front of her dad, but she only ever encountered penalizations. Afterwards, her mother would never mention what happened and Beca’s well-intended efforts seemed to transpire in vain. 

She was only a child. What else was she supposed to do? 

Once Beca grew out of her early childhood years and approached her early teens, she got a direct taste of what her mother experienced most days of the week. Anything, and truly anything, could set her dad off. 

If Beca didn’t answer a question immediately, she would get yelled at for acting subordinate. If she retorted to an errand he requested because he was too lazy to do it himself, she would get yelled at for acting ungrateful. If she as so much criticized his actions or questioned his methods, she would get the phrase, “I’m the parent, you’re the child,” pounded through her eardrums. 

Oftentimes her mom would be around to hear some of it, but she would never intervene. That, to Beca, was the ultimate symbol of betrayal. Not only because her mom knew firsthand what this form of behavior felt like, but that she sat around and took his side just to get him to “calm down.” Beca didn’t care if it started World War III – she wanted to feel supported. But her own home neglected the notion of support, which is why she sought home elsewhere.

As soon as Beca started to hear the icy tone of impatience rile up within her dad’s pharynx, she fled the house for the day. And thus, she went on walks.

She mainly went throughout her own neighborhood, since it was a couple of windy streets and plenty of green lawns. Her Midwestern, semi-suburban setting was inhabited by medium to large houses, all accompanied by expansive yards. Her own street ended with a cul-de-sac where she would see a few kids playing games outside. She frequented the end of her street to visit her home-away-from-home: the Beale’s. 

Chloe Beale was a few years older than Beca and was enrolled in high school whilst Beca was still in middle school. Even though this odd social match would not exist within the school system itself, something about being neighbors busted the catty norms that infected teenage girls. Away from school, any potential differences between the two mainly melted away.

Beca and Chloe originally met when they were in elementary school, when the neighborhood hosted a block party. The kids all seemed to mash together, blending kids from age 3 up to around 13. Beca, a rather brash character for a 6-year-old, tried to assert herself within the older kids. It didn’t take long for them to ruthlessly cast her aside with taunts and teases, and she ran away with watery eyes. Beca didn’t want to bother an adult, so she sat on the curb and sniffled to herself until a bright figure stood in front of her. 

“There isn’t crying here, we’re at a party!” The seemingly confident little girl said, looking down at the juvenile Beca. 

“I don’t fit in at the party,” was all Beca could mumble before the figure thrust her hand in front of Beca’s face.

“Then let’s leave the party.” 

The pair’s friendship was sealed beyond that point. Not only did they manage to escape the block party to hide within Chloe’s house for the rest of the day, but they bonded over Doritos and Capri-sun. Beca’s favorite color was purple, which also happened to be Chloe’s. Beca’s favorite animal was a cheetah, but Chloe’s was a koala. “I don’t know what a koala is, but it seems cool,” Beca ended up deciding. 

Along the time of the block party, her father’s abuse was just beginning. Thus, Beca’s frequent trips to the Beale household also began. Chloe’s parents figured they were just very close friends, and never questioned why Beca was over so often. Afterschool, Beca would be there. If Beca ate dinner at home for once, she would leave for the Beale’s afterwards anyway. Weekends, she took residence. She was even there at the tail-end of holidays, even though their families followed different religions. Beca picked up Jewish traditions after spending so many Hanukkahs down the street. Everything just became habit.

Beca was over so much that Chloe started to leave the backdoor to the basement open, letting her enter whenever she wanted. Beca would make a trip down the grassy hill alongside the house to slide open the glass doors, meeting the fully furnished basement the Beales kept as a bonus room. Complete with a kitchenette, pool table, sectional couch, and a television screen that occupied the entirety of a small wall. 

Sometimes Chloe would be there already; sometimes Beca would be early one. When Chloe was at clarinet practice, Beca would wait within Chloe’s house and do homework, flipping through the pages of her textbooks in a leisurely yet concentrated fashion. Once Chloe made it home, Beca would look up from her trance in a grin, holding up an unopened Capri-sun that she had set aside for her favorite person. At age 13 and 15, they were still drinking their Capri-sun.

When Beca reached 15 and Chloe 17, nothing seemed to change except for the difficulty of their homework and the complexity of their lives. They still sat alongside each other on the black leather couch, bantering back and forth about gossip or movies or shops that were opening up within their local mall. 

On the weekends, they started to have movie nights. Beca wasn’t used to watching movies – it wasn’t something her family really did. But she learned to like them, only if Chloe was there to watch with her. They’d do voiceovers, predict the plot, and vote which characters belonged with who. For the particularly stupid high school rom-coms they ordered through Red Box, they would find humor in obliterating the script.

Personality wise, they were complete opposites, but they still found themselves at the epitome of comfort. It was also these quiet, comfortable movie nights that Chloe started to look at her best friend in a different way – one that expanded more into a physical sense of comfort. 

Beca would often sprawl her arms across the back of the sectional as the two would watch their movies, lazily drooping her hands down over the cushions. One day, Chloe happened to rest alongside Beca’s exposed flank as she tenderly nudged her way across the few inch gap that separated them. Chloe assumed it would be a fleeting moment, a temporary lapse in judgment, but Beca immediately wrapped an arm around Chloe, pulling her tighter into what began as a series of cuddle sessions. 

They’ve loosely cuddled before, with their legs tangled about as they sat on opposite ends of the couch reading books. But it was never intentional; they were never in a position where they were aware they were cuddling. And right now, both of them acknowledged how close they were to each other. But that was all that it was. It was happening, they were cuddling, and everything was fine. 

And everything was fine. Until one day, Beca glanced down at Chloe during one of their movie nights and noticed how Chloe’s sharp yet soulful eyes pierced her soul if she looked just a little too long at them. And when Chloe caught Beca peeking, she could only stare back, realizing that Beca’s own eyes were rich and solid in a way that emitted security and assurance. However, Chloe’s gaze quickly faltered to Beca’s lips, which then Beca noticed. And then Beca accidentally did the same. And then eventually both of them are flickering from mouth to eyes mouth to eyes, until Beca finally closed the gap and ended their internal struggles of doubt with a firm kiss to Chloe’s pink lips amongst the lights and shadows of the bonus room.

It was conservative at first, plagued by hesitation and mild uncertainty. But Chloe kissed back, lacing her hand behind Beca’s neck as her body leaned and added more force to the melded pair. Beca bobbed forward to balance the pressure discrepancy, letting it become a dance of who had the higher will and the most control.

They fought back and forth under hums and roaming hands until Beca ended up placing a palm on Chloe’s torso, pushing her to meet the cool texture of the leather. The two got exponentially craftier as they continued to make out, legs slotting between each other and broad pressure applying to tantalizing spots. The first utterance of a moan from the back of Chloe’s throat only encouraged Beca further, and soft undulations met ongoing dry grinding. 

A noise from the television startled them both, and Beca snapped out of their lip-lock only to look at Chloe again. The two softly panted from being out of breath, and they searched each other’s irises for answers to what was currently unsaid. 

“Holy shit.” Beca exhaled in an almost incredulous manner, leaning with one arm against the backrest of the couch.

“Yeah.” Chloe breathed before biting the side of her slightly snog-swollen lower lip, keeping it in its position under her teeth before it slipped back.

“Well… that just happened.”

They could only let out spurts of small, comfortable laughs.

“Do we stop?” Chloe asked, hoping deep down that the answer was no, and that Beca would never stop feeding her the same type of energy she just experienced. 

“No…” Beca said slowly, releasing a wide grin before closing the gap between their faces once more.


End file.
